


Wham!

by SunlitGarden



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Acquaintances to more, Alternate Universe, Christmas Party, F/M, Fluff, George Michael - Freeform, Roller rink, Rollerblades & Rollerskates, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wham - Freeform, holiday party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 16:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16937037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: At the Bijou's holiday party, Jughead joins relatively new coworker Betty Cooper in laps on the roller rink to 80's music that he normally rolls his eyes at. But her brother has ditched her and he feels kinda bad, and he's hoping that maybe tonight he can get her to give him that smile, the one he secretly hopes is just for him.





	Wham!

**Author's Note:**

> The song playing is "Last Christmas" by Wham! whose lead singer was George Michael, in case any of you are confused by the references.

Some sappy synthesizer music blasts over the soft disco lighting above.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Jughead mutters under his breath, stepping away from the arcade fighting game to see if anyone’s actually skating to this sappy holiday drivel.

Annnnd of course they are. Mindless cheery sheep are circling the roller rink as careless as can be. A few guys subtly try to make an exit, the 80’s pop too much to handle for their fragile masculinity on top of the roller skates. There’s a minor struggle as someone—Chic, he thinks—tries to extricate themselves from someones grasp. As the sea of lemmings parts, Jughead sees Betty pleading, trying to get Chic to sing along.

“ _This year to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special…_ ”

Undeterred, Chic keeps skating towards the exit. The sharp curve of Chic’s brow makes it look like he’s permanently scowling. Or maybe he’s just judging everyone. Unfortunately he has zero sense of humor, so the only thing him and Jughead seem to have in common is a general aversion to superfluous social interaction.

Besides fair features, a Bijou uniform, and a last name, he’s not sure what Chic and Betty really have in common.

Betty’s _pleasant…_ on the verge of being _chipper…_ which kind of throws Jughead and the rest of the crew for a loop. When she asks about his day or his favorite movies, she actually listens and has thoughtful responses. Whenever she hands off a popcorn with extra butter and wishes someone a good day it sounds like she actually _means_ it. The only time he’s ever seen her scowl is when she’s assigned to cleaning in the theaters. Muttering under her breath, she tightens that swirly ponytail and tidies so aggressively he feels an itch to iron the ugly uniform they’re forced to wear.

Their conversations have been brief but engaging. She’s actually the most fun person to work concessions with, the only one who tosses popcorn at him for snacking through their whole shift. Once in a while he manages to catch her chiding treat in his mouth, rewarded with a satisfying crunch and her annoyed but clearly amused expression. It’s not her customer service smile.

He likes to think of it as _his_.

“ _Once bitten and twice shy, I keep my distance, but you still cross my eye,_ ” George Michael croons over the speakers in all his 80’s heartthrob glory.

“Please, Chic? It’s my favorite Christmas song.”

The model of passivity shakes her off, continuing along his path. Chic usually does the same at work. It’s _fine_ if she’s there, but he’s never gone out of his way to interact with her.

Jughead feels a pang of guilt. What he’d give to be able to hang out with his younger sister Jellybean, even if she _was_ dragging him around a roller rink for some stupid holiday party. Maybe if he saw her more he could afford to brush her off like Chic does to Betty, but even then he’d probably hang by the rink if she asked him to, even if he didn’t want to roll around on it.

Betty follows in Chic’s orbit, clearly not comfortable being left alone.

A flicker of movement draws Jughead out of his observations. “Hey. You wanna play some games?”

Ben is such a soft-spoken _creepy_ guy that Jughead nearly flinches and strikes out every time he says something. It’s not even clear if he’s talking to the approaching Coopers or to Jughead. There’s a big debate amongst the crew whether the glaze over his eyes is boredom, stupidity, or too much weed.

Chic gives the ghostly boy a sharp nod, yanking off his skates as Betty collides to a stop at the edge. “Seriously?” she asks, bending her knees in her plea. “ _One_ song? Please?”

“You in, Jones?” Chic asks bluntly, ignoring his sister.

“Uh…”

They’ve played games together before. Chic’s detached intensity and Ben’s vacant jellyfish of a personality have always kinda put him off.

Probably on accident, or maybe because of proximity, Betty turns the doe-eyes on Jughead, sending his protective instincts into overdrive.

“I’ll…hey, what size are those skates?”

“Twelves.”

“Hand ‘em over,” Jughead demands, ducking his head to try and distract himself from the delighted clapping of the girl he barely knows and a prickly feeling numbing his fingers.

Chic leaves the skates behind, already walking in just his socks towards the arcade. “Whatever. Hey Ben, did you see the Ninja Turtles game?”

“Yeah. I like the lights.”

“Let’s go.”

The two dirty blonde boys with light eyes drift away, shoulders back and at ease like they’re in some tween clothing line commercial. Tossing worn-down Converse to the side, Jughead tentatively pulls on the skates and walk-rolls towards the rink.

“Here.” His hand is surprisingly full of Betty’s forearm, delicately manicured nails wrapping around his hoodie to help him onto the rink.

“Are those…Santa nails?”

With a sheepish grin, Betty nods. “I thought more people would get into the holiday spirit for the party. Guess that’s not their thing.”

The red nails with little puffs of white buttons, lining, and a black belt are actually pretty cute. They’d be a good conversation piece with customers. His sister would love them, but it might be weird to ask for a picture. As they skate, he notes that the main earrings she’s wearing are little silver bells, but he can’t see if the tiny ones lining the other side of her lobe are themed as well.

The only other person who’s gotten in the spirit is Melody, who’s wearing leggings with a holiday light design up either side. Maybe Jughead should’ve dug around to see if he had some red suspenders or something, but it’s never even occurred to him. The only thought he had was _free pizza and games for a couple hours_. And…maybe he’d get some good stories.

Even though Chic had technically provided most of Betty’s orientation, Jughead gets the feeling he left out all the good stuff in the hopes she'd find it boring so he wouldn't have to give her a ride to work. From what Jughead's noticed, Betty walks a fair amount of the time anyway. Someone ought to fill her in on the more fun aspects of the job, a helm Jughead takes up without really meaning to. He wants to share the stories with her.

“Our team is kind of holiday-adjacent. In case you haven’t noticed, most of us are slightly avant-garde. It’s our _brand._ ” The sarcasm rings a little too true, but he pushes that aside for consideration for another day.

“My brother kept telling me I wouldn’t fit in here because I’m too…” Her brow furrows as she glances at Chic, whose expression has its usual flatness as he jams up a game, Ben’s eyes glowing in a screen just behind him. Jughead gets the urge to tell her that her brother is a dick.

There are a lot of reasons Betty doesn’t fit into the Bijou crowd, but none of them are something to frown about.

“Nice?” he offers, earning a smile. He feels the pressure of her fingers a little tighter.

“I was kinda hoping you’d be my saving grace. Maybe trade the beanie for a Santa hat,” she offers, bright eyes attentively on his hair.

“Uh…no.” He laughs, tugging it down with his free hand, the other still wrapped in Betty as they get acclimated into the rhythm of the rink. “This is spirited enough, thank you. So what do we do? Skate in circles?”

“Sure! Or you can sing, or dance, or—“

“Nah. Let’s just…skate,” he finishes quickly, not exactly eager to do any of the above.

“Okay. I can’t promise not to sing though.”

They flash nervous little smiles at each other, her fingers trailing down to his wrist, momentum keeping them side by side.

She doesn’t know him outside of the Bijou…so it’s not like he has some predetermined box to break out of. And he doesn’t know her outside of being related to a stone-faced guy who seems intent on Instagram modeling and G&G. Jughead’s certainly tried to put together a backstory in his head, but she’s surprisingly, wonderfully complicated.

It shouldn’t feel as relatively easy as it does to get know her.

They chat, Betty bobbing her head and mouthing the words to whatever song is playing at the time, shifting her weight to the rhythm even if she doesn’t _mean_ to be dancing. It’s kind of hilarious. He looks around to see if anyone else is catching this. Sadly, no.

“What?” She instinctively turns her ear up like she can _hear_ him thinking.

“You’re just…” _Cute_ , his brain supplies. “Enthusiastic.”

She rolls her eyes, skating just a bit further out, the whir of skates underlining the baseline. “Oh, I forgot. Everyone is broody and intellectual at the Bijou.”

“It’s French.” Like that explains everything.

“Okay, _Joogheed,_ ” she teases in a ridiculous, lilting French accent, spinning to skate backwards.

“Showoff.” He tries to ignore the lurch in his gut when she drops his wrist to do a trick. It makes _sense_ of course. She could use more room, and it’s not like they know each other very well. It’s not like he _wants_ to hold hands.  But other people are doing it.

Even Val and Melody are holding hands as they skate, half-crooning and people-watching, strutting like they’ve been born to skate. They barely pick up shifts at the tickets stand, but they still get to enjoy the holiday party. It’s not _weird_.

Jughead would normally beg off and play video games at the arcade, but he could do that any day. Betty smiles at him over her shoulder, peachy cheeks and silver bells and bright pine-green eyes. He figures he has another couple songs in him, picking up the pace to grab her hand. It’s not _romantic_. No. He uses her to pull himself forward, faster. Biting his lip, he tries to outpace her.

“This isn’t a _race!_ ”

Wiggling his eyebrows, he swerves out a full body-length ahead of her and drops her fingers.

Pushing with renewed vigor, Betty catches up. “Ugh, Jughead!”

Turns out that racing around the rink is more like sprinting on wheels, and it’s dangerous when a bunch of other people are thrown into the mix. Just as he’s weaving around a corner, Betty can’t make the sharp turn and smashes into him full-force, his hands immediately catching high on her waist at the impact. They slam back into the fencing, somehow avoiding other humans on their tumultuous path.

“You okay?” he laughs, hoping his back doesn’t bruise. But she’s staring at him with her mouth open, eyes wide and sparkling and then he realizes that his thumb is pretty much tracing the metal underwire of her bra. “Oh god, I’m so—“ he fumbles, trying to back up and forgetting that they’re already smashed against the fence, lurching them both into bounce-collision again.

"Jug!” she squeaks, latching onto him as their knees clank into each other, skates freewheeling as they topple towards the floor.

Unbelievable. The one time he actually takes a risk and he’s gonna end up on the floor. “Shit,” he hisses, hoping he’s grabbing somewhere non-offensive as he pulls her into his arms so he can take the brunt of the fall. “ _Shit._ ” Instinct flares in eight different directions at once. Cussing himself for falling, wobbling to try and regain balance, heat at having her flush against him, and going ass-down so he doesn’t break his neck. Pain shifts in-and-out of focus as frustration edges in. Her knees brace loudly on either side of his thighs, but he’s hoping his tailbone took the brunt of the dull pain of impact on the polished wood rink, closely followed by the throbbing on the back of his head thanks to the solid fence enclosure.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” It’s like she doesn’t even notice that she’s sitting on him. Her fingers immediately go under his beanie, checking his head for injury.

“Shiiit,” he breathes, suddenly really needing to pee. Or just… _shit_.

But Betty’s too engrossed to notice anything twitching against her thighs. “You’re not bleeding, right? Are you okay?” Her hands frame either side of his face, trying to get him to look at her. It’s difficult to draw his gaze up from her mouth, but he does it in enough time to catch her worry. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. _This_ is probably why they don’t let people race in skating rinks outside of the Olympics. They have lanes.”

“Yes. And training.” She bites her lip, worry fading to guilt. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry enough to get me a slice of pizza?”

“The pizza’s free, isn’t it?” she shifts curiously, hands dropping down to his neck where he’s pretty sure a tendon thumps to her attention.

“Mm. I think we need some recovery time. How’re your knees?” His hands pat them of their own accord, and even though internally he’s _screaming_ not to touch her, his hands tell his brain to mind its own damn business and linger on her legs.

“Fine. I’m…good,” she realizes, looking down and starting, like this is the first time she’s realized maybe she shouldn’t be straddling a boy in a public place where people are likely to run over them on wheels and her brother might dump a lemonade pitcher on their heads.

Although he’s not sure if Chic is the protective older brother _type_. He just _looks_ intimidating, younger sister or no.

He clears his throat. “You ready to try to get up?”

“Y—yeah, just give me a—“ She wobbles one foot up, leaning forward. His hands move to her waist again to try and support her, one eventually just going out for balance if she needs it. “Thanks. I think I’ve—“ she slides forward twice more, nearly kneeing him in the chest and running over his thigh. “I’m so sorry! I swear, I’m really not that bad at standing. You’d think I was a baby giraffe…”

Jughead laughs so hard he can’t even keep his eyes open, head tilted back and eyes squeezed shut as the idea of perfect Betty Cooper careening to the point of being unable to stand imprints in his brain forever.

The back wall helps her get to her feet, a blush staining her cheeks as Valerie and Melody shoot them pointed looks on their pass-by.

“Thanks for not stepping on me,” he grins, taking one of her outstretched hands and using the wall to _slowly_ shimmy himself up. “I didn’t realize you were so competitive.”

Indignant, she closes her hands into fists. “I’m not.”

“Sure you are. You’re the youngest. You’ve got the most to prove, right?” Lips pursed, she doesn’t protest as his fingers work her way into her palm, gently, slowly making their way to the exit. He definitely is going to be bruised tomorrow, especially if the dull aches in his ass and back are anything to go by. “As an older sibling myself, I should have known. Do not engage.”

She misses his teasing grin, frowning at her skates as she toes them off and finds her little wedge boots. If she notices the tatters in his Converse, she doesn’t say anything.

“So. Shall we?”

When she still hasn’t smiled after a few bites of pizza, he knows something’s wrong. “Hey. Are you okay? Do you need some aspirin for your knees or anything?”

“I’m fine.”

He chews, studying her tense frame carefully. “You seem more subdued.”

“Well, we saw where being _spirited_ landed me.”

“Yes. Right into my waiting arms,” he teases, raising his eyebrows conspiratorially.

Betty blushes, crossing her legs and looking anywhere but him.

Oh.

Maybe…

He sucks his fingers clean of greasy cheesiness, almost like a warm-up for his tongue.

“There’s nothing wrong with being spirited.” She’s quiet, biting her lip. “I mean, _I_ certainly liked it. You’re the only one here with an ounce of bubbliness to their personality.” She scoffs at that. “Maybe bubbly isn’t the right word. Enthusiasm? Fire? You’ve got…I don’t know…a spark.”

Her gaze shift up from his torso to his face with the same zig-zag carefulness of a car winding up a mountain pass. “A spark?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…I’m really glad you came out with me.”

“Of course. I couldn’t let you _Wham!_ out there by yourself,” he grins, enjoying the way she shakes her head and bites her tongue at his pun. That's _his_ smile under there. “So as the only spirited person here, what do you think would set this holiday party over the top?”

The edge of her shoe skims past his shin as she uncrosses her legs. “I don’t know. Maybe pie, candy canes…” he nods, chewing thoughtfully, “…Or mistletoe.”

Licking away the remnants of thick moisture on his lips, he notes the way she’s guarded her expression. A new hunger blooms inside of him, rumbling and eager. “There’s no rule that says you need mistletoe to kiss someone.”

“Isn’t there?” She must be crossing her legs again, a foot edging across his jeans. Wiping his lips and fingers on a napkin, Jughead motions to the side doors.

“Do you want me…to walk to you home?”

“Yes, please. If you think we can do it without slamming into each other.”

“No promises.”

The sudden heat in the joke has them both breathing deeply. Crunched into a dark mess, the thin paper napkin folds in submission on the table.

A nervous grumbling protests in his gut. “Should we tell your brother?”

She barely even glances over her shoulder at Chic. “He’s occupied. I’ll text him that we went out for a walk, that way he doesn’t have to tell my parents anything. You, um, is your dad at home?”

Just from the phrasing, _someone_ must have told her about his family situation. There’s no pity, just carefulness, which he appreciates.

“He’ll be out tonight for a work thing.”

“Oh.” The little Santa jackets on her fingernails dig into her thighs, and he has this sudden fantasy of what they’d feel like etched along his back.

“You could come over, if you want.”

Chin tilting up, eyes brighter than the disco nonsense on the roller rink floor, she smiles.

“I’d like that.”

Unable to fight a grin, he helps her into her coat and leads her outside to his waiting bike. She giggles, but not at the motorcycle.

“What?”

“You’re humming.”

Jughead has never hummed a day in his life, but he doubts Betty is much of a liar. “Am I?” She nods, bundling tighter in her jacket and moving forward as soon as he does to be enveloped in warmth. “And what song was it?”

Even as the notes leave her mouth, vibrating against his lips, he _knows_. He tastes their sweet hopefulness.

 

_I’ll give it to someone special._

**Author's Note:**

> I AM A GIANT SAP AND YOU CANNOT STOP ME!
> 
> This almost got smutty, but once again, self-restraint. Ha! I mean, I suppose I could be _persuaded_ for another chapter, but for now this is a cute holiday fic that ends in two teens humming against each other's lips sooo...first time for everything, folks.
> 
> Speaking of, I had to restrain myself SO MUCH when writing in Chic and Ben. Obviously in this universe they are not total psychos and Chic is an actual full blood relation. Just had to enjoy the weird Bijou boys.
> 
> What do you think of Wham!? The band and the fic ^-^ Tell me your thoughts and have a very special, wonderful day.


End file.
